


(don't stop until your heart goes) numb

by anexcessoffeels (headbuttingbears)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Barest Semblance of Plot, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hand Jobs, I'm Sorry, M/M, Marathon Sex, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headbuttingbears/pseuds/anexcessoffeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rollins almost reached for him again but stopped at the last minute, clasping her hands together instead. "When was your last dose?"<br/>"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, clinging to his old fiction out of habit, like his hands weren't already starting to shake.<br/>"Don't worry, it probably isn't noticeable yet," she said. "<i>I</i> normally wouldn't have noticed, but…"<br/>Barba looked up. "You're..." He couldn't bring himself to say <i>you're in heat</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(don't stop until your heart goes) numb

**Author's Note:**

> This is barely ABO. It's ABO lite. It's effectively a D/s society AU in an ABO suit. If you're looking for weeping omegas getting knocked up, turn back now. None of that happens here. I co-opted the ABO jargon for my own deranged purposes.
> 
> Reference to past gay sex of a dubious nature.
> 
> I wish I could blame Jenny like I normally do, but I can't. This is all on me for once.
> 
> Title from Fall Out Boy's "Novocaine" because why the hell not.

More caffeine. That's what he needed, more caffeine.

Barba stood watching the coffeemaker, squeezing the bridge of his nose and waiting for the water to boil. He hadn't had a chance to go home yet; he'd slept in his office, something he hadn't done in years. Not since his transfer, anyway. The couch was comfortable enough to sit on, but it wasn't meant for sleeping. Not even just a glorified power nap like what he'd ended up taking.

The sooner this case was over the better.

The coffeemaker started to burble at the same time his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he groaned, flicking through the latest text message. 8AM was too early for company, and he wasn't in the mood to share his coffee.

"Morning, Counselor," Carisi said when he strolled in, looking disgustingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He dropped a donut box on the table and flipped it open, helping himself. Rollins had followed him in, looking far less happy to be there.

"Tell me you found the diaries," Barba said, ignoring the donuts for the moment in favor of pulling open desk drawers, on the hunt for painkillers.

"We found them," Rollins said, helping herself to his coffee, ignoring his glare. "Lab's going over them right now."

"The sergeant lit a fire under their asses so it should be pretty quick," Carisi offered, brushing sprinkles off his tie.

Another empty bottle, but Barba shook it out of habit before setting it on his desk to recycle later. "How quick is 'pretty quick'?" He glanced up at Carisi, but it was Rollins who answered him.

"Maybe Monday." She was leaning against the table opposite Carisi, slowly stirring her coffee.

The sound of the spoon dragging against the bottom of the cup was a piercing, grating sound. Barba pulled open another drawer, found another empty bottle. Number three. "Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it." He was going to be waiting around all day on various motions, phone calls, appointments; he wasn't about to suffer any more than he had to. There had to be _something_ in this desk, fucking _Advil_ or-

"Told you he wouldn't buy it," Carisi said, glancing at Rollins. If Barba hadn't been so wrapped up in his increasingly desperate search, he would've noticed Carisi's puzzled frown, how he looked from Rollins to Barba curiously.

"Did you sleep in those clothes?" Rollins asked, sounding bored. She hadn't stopped stirring her coffee. Or watching him.

Number five. How many bottles of extra-strength Tylenol had he _bought_ over the last year? He needed to get the economy size. They had to make one. "I plead the fifth," he gritted out, pressing his thumb to the spot just under his eyebrow, to the left of his nose, and pulled open the lowest drawer.

Two bottles. _One_ of them had to have _something_ -

"Barba, hey. You feelin' alright?" Carisi's concern was audible. "You don't look so hot."

Barba was too busy staring at the second bottle. Empty, just like the previous six, but this one had a prescription label stuck to it.

_Barba, Rafael – TAKE 1 TABLET DAILY WITH WATER – 25 MG_

Well, that explained why he felt like shit, he thought, dazed. He'd gotten so wrapped up in his work, so busy, that he hadn't had time to get a refill. Kept putting it off, doing the math in his head every couple of hours because the bottle might have said daily but he knew from experience he could push that to two days. _Five hours since his last dose, he was good for another forty-three. It had been twenty-seven, he's fine for another twenty-one. Forty-one, another seven. He'd definitely get home in seven. He'd get to a pharmacy in seven._

But he hadn't – he'd crashed, slept four miserable hours and spent the other three trying to get comfortable, the pain growing into a full-body ache, distracting him.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. At least that damn noise had stopped.

"Carisi." Rollins set her coffee cup down on the table, the sound like a thunder crack through Barba's head. "Do the counselor a favor and go buy him some Tylenol."

If Carisi objected to playing gofer Barba didn't hear it, too focused on trying to will the pain away. On trying not to panic. He was in the middle of one of the largest concentrations of alphas in the city and the suppressants had worn off and if he was lucky he'd only get fired, and if he _wasn't_ -

But he could still hear Rollins's voice – not that he had a choice. "And take your time," she said, just before the door closed with a click that made him wince.

Warm fingers touched the back of his neck, cold with sweat, and he startled, Rollins's hand slipping away when he lurched back in his chair. "What are you doing?"

She touched his cheek; he resisted the urge to moan. "Do you have another set of clothes here?" She pressed the back of her hand to his clammy forehead, like she was checking for a fever.

"Just a shirt. Why-" His breathing wasn't getting any steadier with Rollins touching him, pushing her fingers through his hair. He couldn't think, couldn't _lie_ the way he needed to, when she kept touching him. He knocked her hand away, but it was a feeble effort. "I don't know what the fuck you _think_ you're doing, but you need to think twice," Barba said, trying to put some of his customary snap in it.

She almost reached for him again but stopped at the last minute, clasping her hands together instead. "When was your last dose?" Her tone – straightforward, almost kind, the way he'd heard her talk to more reluctant victims – infuriated him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, clinging to his old fiction out of habit, like his hands weren't already starting to shake. Like he wasn't sitting there sweating so bad she shouldn't have needed to ask. Like her perfume wasn't all he could smell, sweeter than he took his coffee.

"Don't worry, it probably isn't noticeable yet," she said, continuously clasping and reclasping her hands, knuckles going white and then peach. " _I_ normally wouldn't have noticed, but…"

He looked up from her hands to her stomach, level with his face, and swallowed. "You're..." He couldn't bring himself to say _you're in heat_. If he said it this whole ridiculous situation became more real, and none of this should've been happening in the first place. It wouldn't be happening if he hadn't been so _stupid_.

"Can't you tell?" She gave up on her fidgeting, reaching out to slowly trace the curve of his ear with her fingertip.

"No," he whispered, eyes fluttering shut. "The drugs- They block it all out so I can function, so I don't-" His eyes snapped open and he grabbed her wrist. "You can't tell anyone."

"I won't," she said, not pulling away despite how his grip tightened enough to hurt.

"You don't understand, they'll never let a-" He couldn't even say it. "No one like me ever makes it to DA. You can't tell anyone, I've worked too hard for this, I can't lose my job-"

She covered his mouth with her free hand, silencing him, his breaths quick against her skin. "I said I wouldn't," she said firmly.

He released her wrist, feeling a surge of relief; she was more like Liv than he'd realized. Liv had figured it out early on and never said anything. Hadn't made it an issue even after she got promoted. It just never came up, regardless of how sometimes he said jump and she was left angrily guessing how high. Olivia Benson, he'd found out, was part of the new school of NYPD alpha: a progressive liberal. An unfortunate rarity, in his experience.

His relief faded when Rollins shifted her hand to cup his cheek, rub his lower lip with her thumb. "I know things are different up here than they are back in Georgia," she murmured, pushing her thumb into his mouth. "I'll keep your secret. I won't let them hurt you."

Barba knew better than to trust that kind of talk, coming from someone in her state. He'd seen enough people like him promised things, used up, tossed aside. Hadn't his parents warned him when he was young? Hadn't he heard similar words when he was an undergrad and found the truth behind the lie? Nothing was worth the abandonment, the impossibility of advancement. It was just biology, he didn't have to go along with it.

Believing that didn't stop him from sucking on her thumb, tasting her skin on his tongue. Sweet, the way she smelled. He hadn't done this drug-free in years, and never during someone else's heat – was that why she tasted like candy? Some trick of her body chemistry, the way it interacted with his, vanishing his aches faster than morphine?

He made a small noise of gratitude and that was all Rollins could handle. She pulled her thumb from his mouth, grabbed his chin to hold him in place, and, bending down, kissed him.

When was the last time anyone had kissed him? The last time an _alpha_ had kissed him, not just a safe, easily-handled beta? He couldn't remember, and with her lips moving against his, the barest touch of her tongue, it didn't matter. Barba moaned into her mouth, not noticing how he reached out, hands only stopping their shaking when they settled lightly against her thighs, feeling the soft material of her slacks.

She had both hands on his face when she pulled away, keeping him still. "If we were in Georgia I'd fuck you right now," she said, voice gone husky as she smoothed his short hair back ineffectually. "I do miss _some_ things about home."

He swallowed thickly, staring up at her. "The door's not even locked," he said, heart pounding. Carisi was going to be back any minute and he wasn't going to be able to stand up.

"We never locked our doors," she said dismissively, still petting him.

"I wouldn't have a job in Georgia," he pointed out, trying to focus on what was important instead of what felt amazing. Christ, he hadn't been this hard in years. If she'd been wearing a skirt he would've been in serious trouble.

She hummed in disapproval and finally stopped petting him, ignoring his disappointed sigh to pull away from him and walk back to the table and her coffee, undoubtedly stone cold. He didn't know how she managed it; he missed her already. Fucking genetics.

"Do you have a license?"

His mouth dried up, hands curling into fists on the arms of his chair. "No." He'd thought about it from time to time, but applying would've meant revealing himself and that was not acceptable. He could've had it doctored afterwards, just in case, but that was illegal and he couldn't stomach the hypocrisy. Besides, there'd never been any reason to make it worthwhile in the first place – no one had ever expressed any interest in having _his_ children.

Not to mention it would've meant going off the suppressants, and that was not an option.

Rollins emptied the cup into his plant. "That's too bad." She set the empty cup down on the table by the coffeemaker, spoon rattling against the porcelain. "Come over tonight."

With some distance between them, his panic banked, the pain gone – he tried to disregard why – he felt more like his normal self. "I'm not getting on my knees for you," he said, annoyed at the presumption.

She smiled, pulled her phone out and scanned it when it beeped. "Carisi's on his way up. You should change your shirt after we leave. He won't notice, but…" She raked her eyes over him, making him feel self-conscious in a way he'd managed to avoid for twenty years. "Unless you want every alpha in the building jumping you the moment you set foot outside your office, you'll change your shirt. You smell like an omega." Rollins made it sound like both the best and worst thing in the world.

 

Minutes after the cops left, donuts in tow, Barba was swamped with messages, emails, alerts. _Unfortunately we won't be able to_ 's and _recess extended until Monday_ and _going to be another couple of weeks_. Barba's entire day came to a screeching halt in the space of an hour, and he'd never been more thrilled. He didn't bother with his necktie after he changed, just shoved it in his bag, along with his old shirt, safely wrapped in a plastic bag. Left a note for his secretary – she was running late like everyone else in the world and wouldn't be in until after 9AM – and called time of death on his Friday.

It was freezing out; he'd never been so grateful for winter, heavy coats, congested noses, cold weather that deadened the sense of smell. He still cabbed it uptown instead of risking the subway, stopped at his local pharmacy and waited impatiently for them to open, jittery and nervous like an addict needing his fix. The aches had stayed gone, replaced by a twitchiness he couldn't shake, and Rollins's scent lingered on his skin like fresh perfume. He was convinced every stranger who walked by could tell what he was, that she'd marked him for her own and they all knew it. That sort of accidental claiming wasn't unheard of, though tricky to prove in court.

A hot shower, that's what he needed. A shower would fix everything, would help him go back to fooling everyone, along with one of the white tablets from a new bottle of suppressants, and Barba was scarcely in the door before he shook one out into his hand.

Barba rubbed a hand over his mouth, staring at the suppressant, remembering how she'd touched him. Not possessively, thoughtlessly demanding the way he'd witnessed so many alphas in heat behave – the way that freaked him out at the same time it pissed him off, aroused him against his will – but like she couldn't help herself. He'd never been more vulnerable and they'd both known it, yet she hadn't pushed her advantage and killed his career where it stood.

_If we were in Georgia I'd fuck you right now._

He could still taste her; he dumped the tablet back in the bottle, shoved it in his coat pocket and undid his belt, pushed his hand down the front of his pants to touch himself through his underwear. Groaning, he slid down the wall to sit fully clothed in the front hall, jerking himself off to the thought of her topping him, forcing him the way nature had intended.

Barba fumbled his handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping his sticky hand when he was done. What he'd thought was restlessness was actually a pervasive arousal, temporarily diminished – he'd forgotten what it was like without the suppressants in his system. No wonder a large chunk of the population continued to think omegas couldn't handle real jobs. He didn't feel capable of doing the dishes.

But he _could_ compose a text message, and he did, brief and to the point. Just his address, and the reply back was immediate, as if she'd been expecting it.

_5pm_

_Come over tonight_ , she'd said. No chance; he wasn't that secure. If she wanted him – and apparently she did – then she'd come to him.

It couldn't be that bad to just… Give in for a change. Submit. Stop lying about what he was for the space of a night. No one would have to find out – omegas might have been an alpha's first choice in a heat, but it wasn't uncommon for them to go with a beta they liked enough instead. And after working with her for a couple of years, he trusted Rollins to keep it between them. Especially if he… Well.

He picked himself up and went to take that shower.

 

There was a moment after he opened the front door that Rollins stood there, silent and staring, and Barba felt hot with embarrassment – he should have dressed up or at least worn something else, something nicer than a t-shirt and old sweatpants. But he'd gotten out of the shower feeling more frustrated than ever after jerking off for a second time. A light lunch, a much-needed nap – they sounded great in theory, but in practice he'd spent his afternoon with his hand down his pants, trying to find some kind of satisfaction he knew he'd never attain without help. He deserved it; he'd brought it on himself, first by accident and then on purpose.

After a second very necessary shower, he'd dressed strictly for comfort, the way he seldom did, and fuck her if she didn't like it. Alphas had it so damn easy. The only lucky break he'd gotten was that he wasn't in heat himself. Then things _really_ would have been unbearable. He'd still be downtown, pulling a train in Foley Square.

"God damn," Rollins said, breathing deeply and eyeing him like she was trying to decide where to start on devouring him. Top or bottom? He'd love to believe he really did look that good but he suspected being in heat was informing her opinion. Her gaze settled on the tented front of his sweats, a reminder that she wasn't the only one not in their right mind.

Barba didn't get the door closed before she was on him, pushing him up against the wall with a hand on his chest, kissing him. More assertive than she'd been before, her mouth more demanding, her hand fisted the neck of his shirt, stretching the material, and when he put his hands on her she made an appreciative sound.

There was a laugh, surprised, and a whistle – his door was still open, and when he opened his eyes, struggling to focus beyond Rollins pressed against him, he saw two of his neighbors walking by. He blushed, reaching past Rollins to slam the door shut.

"Do your neighbors know what they live next door to?" Rollins asked, groping his cock through his sweats. He pressed his face to her cheek, inhaling the sweet smell of her, exhaustion vanishing. Pushed at her coat, hoping she'd get the hint and take it off.

"They do now, thanks to you," Barba muttered, gasping into her ear when she gave him a little squeeze, licked his neck. "You and your fucking open door policy. Thanks for blowing my cover. Take off your coat."

"No," she said, kissing his cheek, his jaw, smearing her lipstick on his face, grabbing his hip. "I don't want to. I'm busy."

Maybe she'd listen to reason. "You're not going anywhere. Take it off." He pushed his hand under her coat, palming her back, holding her close as she started to rub him off through his sweats, the fabric so soft against his skin. It didn't take much now to get him hard.

"You've forgotten your place," she said, pushing him back with a hand at his throat so his head thumped softly against the wall and he had to look down his nose at her, breathing hard. "You're out of practice. It's okay, I get it. Let me remind you: we're not on your schedule." She pressed the heel of her hand hard against the base of his cock. "We're on mine. Understand?"

"Yes," he hissed, one hand gripping her shoulder tight, the smell of her making him lightheaded. And to think he'd angsted over giving in. He couldn't recall his objections now.

"When was the last time you did this?" She resumed rubbing his cock, slower than before.

"Uh." He couldn't think, feeling sixteen again, touching himself in a bathroom stall after gym class, frantic. He blamed the sweatpants.

Rollins smiled, shook her hair out of her eyes. "How about an easier question: when was the last time you were with an alpha?"

He swallowed, looking past her to the wall. "Senior year of college," he choked out before he had to arch into her hand, starting to sweat. "I- It- Final exams, I forgot my suppressants. And I…"

"What? Tell me," she demanded, like she was grilling a suspect. "Don't be shy _now_."

His face wasn't the only thing that felt like it was on fire, but she wanted to know so he had to tell her. "I went into heat, alright? I wasn't- It was just the shittiest timing imaginable, and I'd never-" He couldn't admit it, not to her. His parents hadn't been rich, they couldn't afford to have him… _Professionally_ handled. When the laws changed and, overnight, drugs became the cheapest – the best – option, it was fine. Everything was fine, a non-issue, until he fucked up.

"Christ," she breathed, free hand dipping down the back of his shirt, fingernails dragging along the skin over the nub of his spine before she palmed the back of his hot neck, kissed the corner of his mouth hard. "How old were you?"

"Twenty," he said, nuzzling her cheek, needing to feel her skin against him, get her scent smeared anew over his face. "Three days. I couldn't walk after, and I would have failed because I couldn't get a note, I wouldn't tell anyone what happened, but…"

"But what?" she breathed, rapt, hand unmoving. Just holding him, letting him rock against her arrhythmically.

"But it was my prof, my stats professor, he was the one who-" Barba shook his head.

"Did he break you in? Did you beg for that alpha cock?" She pushed her knee between his when he tried to close his legs.

" _Yes_ , yes, and- Fuck, he still made me take his exam after, the bastard." He grabbed at her, holding himself up as he came with a groan. What was that, the fifth time? Sixth? He'd already lost track, but it had been better than anything he'd managed solo.

He slumped back against the wall, legs gone weak, and Rollins leaned in after him, touching the spreading wet spot on the front of his sweats. "You smell better like this," she said, pressing her nose to the corner of his jaw and inhaling deeply.

"I showered," he said, staring at the wall, panting. "When I got home." He'd just been here a couple of hours ago. This same spot. Alone, then. Thinking it couldn't be that bad to submit. The night stretched out before him, heated and endless.

"Mm." Rollins licked his neck again, the smooth drag of her tongue making him pant. His cock twitched as the wet streak of her saliva on his skin dried cool. "This is better. This is how you _should_ smell." She shrugged out of her coat, dropped it on the floor before yanking pointedly at the hem of his sweat-soaked t-shirt.

He dragged it off, feeling weak in a way he hadn't in decades.

 

Barba was starting to think they were never going to make it to the bedroom.

"Harder," she said, hands braced on the back of the couch, slacks and underwear pushed down just far enough for him to fuck her. "Harder."

Hesitation never occurred to him; he shoved into her, listening to the sounds of their bodies meeting, the creak of the couch shifting across the floor. His neighbors had to love him tonight.

" _Oh_ ," Rollins said, sounding surprised. "Oh. Oh fuck, why do I even bother with betas," she muttered to herself, white-knuckling the back of the couch, pushing her ass back against him. "I should've known you'd be good. Such a fucking workaholic- Fuck, just like that!"

His hands slid over her hips, holding her in place so he could keep pounding her. The world narrowed to her unbelievable slickness, the hot tensing of her cunt, the heady smell of her. It was surreal how much he wanted her when two days ago he'd felt nothing. Neutral, lukewarm at best, and now she was shaking against him, reaching back to grab his wrist, and he knew he'd come in another moment and want to do it all over again. None of this was normal. Not his kind of normal, anyway. He wasn't used to feeling so much.

Rollins pushed him away after, but not out of reach. Never out of reach, not when her blood was running so hot; she balanced herself with a hand on his shoulder, thumb idly rubbing his neck and making him shiver as she shimmied out of her slacks, stepped out of her panties as he hitched his sweats back up his hips, riveted by the glimpse he got of shiny trails on the insides of her thighs. The thought of getting down on his knees and licking her clean crossed his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had a little pride left yet.

She smiled broadly at him, playful as she hooked her fingers in his waistband and led him forward. They might reach the bed sometime that month, but he'd never be able to reconcile how he'd spent the last few years with what he was doing now. This time yesterday he'd been doing paperwork, yelling at cops, and now he was fucking one. Repeatedly, every time she told him to, and they _still_ hadn't reached the bed when she was ready for round three. The bed was _right there_. They were _in the room_.

But no. Rollins leaned up against the bedroom wall, hauled him in by his waistband to suck on his swollen lower lip. Her hands roamed over his bare chest, his back, and he was going to do whatever she wanted no matter how little sense it made to him so long as she kept touching him. Whatever spine he normally had was gone; it was so much easier to simply yield to biology.

"Fuck me," she said, grabbing his ass, pulling his soiled sweats down; he kicked them away. "Fuck me right here." She hooked her leg around his waist, grinding against him, and no one had ever called him slow on the uptake. Barba lifted her up, braced against the wall; she wrapped her legs around his hips, thighs sticky against him, opening up to him easier than ever.

She wasn't as light as she looked but her weight in his arms calmed something deep inside him. Something he'd been neglecting. "I should've made you fuck me in your office," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he began to rock against her, strokes effortless. No friction at all anymore, not with how wet she was. "I could've. Back home they would've called you ripe."

"I appreciate that you didn't," he said, surprising himself with the bitter note that crept into his voice. "Thanks for not ruining my career."

Rollins tossed her hair back when she laughed wryly, her shirt damp with sweat, teasing against his chest when she arched into him. The smell of her was incredible, almost cloying. "I'd never. I- Ah. I said I wouldn't, _fuck!_ " She grabbed at his hair the way she had that morning, and kissed him desperately, pushing her tongue into his mouth. "Just let me have you, let me have that omega come," she breathed against his lips.

He kissed her back, incapable of denying her, stiffening against her. Pulsing into her, longer than before, and he wasn't softening the slightest between sessions now. Biology had taken over and left Barba incapable of saying _no_. All he could do was wait for her to say _more_ and _now,_ and he stumbled back, holding her, to the bed. Sat down heavily when he felt the edge of the mattress, and she suddenly weighed enough to knock the wind out of him as he collapsed backwards, still inside her.

Rollins smiled down at him, expression soft as she touched his hair. She seemed to have a preoccupation with it, but it felt good when she scratched his scalp lightly. His eyes closed, hips jerking once as he relaxed. Just for a moment, until he couldn't stop himself from moving against her once more. Until she demanded it. Nature driving them on, and it had made her too hot, too delicious for him to resist.

He watched her unbutton her shirt, his fingers resting on her thighs, watched her unhook her bra and felt nothing beyond anticipation at finally having her skin against his own. That was all he wanted, all he _had_ wanted since she'd touched him that morning. No one had touched him in so long, but then he hadn't needed it in so long.

Yet another reason to take the suppressants; not having this was hell. Better not to want it at all.

"What's it feel like?" Rollins asked, lying on top of him, smoothing down the hair on his chest, as if she could somehow feel the pattern of his thoughts. "With the drugs. Is it this good?"

Barba shook his head, restlessness growing when she licked the side of his throat, slowly pinched his nipple. He smoothed his hands over her hips, her ass, touched the small of her back. "No. Nothing's _this_ good. This- It's not right."

She sat up and frowned at him, shifting her weight so her knees were better planted on the bed, eyelids fluttering when he rubbed a finger between her ass cheeks, feeling sweat and the little pucker of muscle.

"Maybe you have a choice," Barba continued, answering her unspoken question, watching her curve towards him. "But I don't. I can't- I couldn't stop if I wanted to." He moved his hand further down to where her cunt split around him, tracing the slippery folds of her flesh; her fingernails bit into his chest. "You just- People like me, we don't have a choice. We're supposed to be grateful for being fucked and then fucked over," he said, anger in his voice as he touched her, watched the blush spread over her cheeks, her heaving chest. But his hands remained gentle – one cupping her breast, tweaking one of her rosy nipples; the other between her legs, fingers stroking her and smearing their fluids up her crack. Pushing just the tip of his finger into her ass, pleased despite himself when her orgasm caught her by surprise, made her yelp and quiver around him.

How could he tell her that, with the suppressants in his system, sex was like sitting in a car going through a carwash? The sound muffled, the water impossible to feel – something to be endured instead of enjoyed. Incomparable to washing that same car yourself, getting sprayed with icy water straight from the hose, soap all over your clothes, wringing out the sponge at the end.

Too bad that being an omega was like being that sponge; soaked, used, wrung out when the job was done. Saved for the next time the car needed washing, or thrown out when it didn't do the job well enough anymore.

How could he tell her that, all things considered, he'd rather sit safe in the car and watch the water run down the windshield? Omegas, someone had said once, were abundant and low-value. Just like sponges. Easy enough for an alpha to pick up a new one whenever the fancy struck them. One purpose, one use.

Rollins wouldn't understand.

 

Something woke him up. Barba didn't know what, didn't realize at first that he'd fallen asleep.

It was dark, the sky beyond the bedroom window black and empty. He lay staring at it, past Rollins's shape in the night, wrapped around him.

Maybe that's what woke him up – her breath hot against his neck, ticklish. He wasn't used to sleeping next to anyone, and she was tucked in close, her leg still slung possessively over his hip. He couldn't remember the light waning, or drifting off, or what they'd been doing when he had. Fucking, most likely. Unbelievable. He hadn't felt tired at all once she'd shown up, but even adrenaline wore off in the end. Forty-four was a little old for marathon sex, especially for an amateur like himself.

Barba shifted against her, sucking in a breath as he drew out of her by a couple of inches, inhaling the rich scent of her as their bodies, sealed together by sweat and other stickier fluids, pulled apart. Vanilla, he decided, that's what she reminded him of, or something close to it. He was, improbably, hard, buried deep in her. The molten clutch of her body, the honeyed fog of her scent that seemed to hang over them like a cloud; it made him feel crazy. He'd never been so out of control of himself in his adult life.

He didn't like it.

Rollins moaned faintly, snuggling closer to him, her knuckles pressing into his chest. Could she sense his anxious thoughts? Had there been some shift in his scent, which she seemed so attuned to?

He traced lazy circles on the soft skin of her shoulder blade, looking out at the void of sky. Not a single star.

Fingers, slim and insistent, tugged at his shoulders; he pressed her back against the pillows, settling between her legs the way he knew she wanted. Stared down at her instead of at the sky; at least her eyes glittered in the dark.

"Please," he said, voice rusty with fatigue. Finally on his knees. Not literally but there nonetheless. "Please, I can't-"

"C'mon, baby," she whispered; he could barely make out the curve of her face, her shoulder. "C'mon. Come in me, c'mon. Fill me like I know you can, fill me up, Rafael, you were made to-" and he kissed her, swallowing down the nastiness, the pained whimper one of them made as he pushed into her deeper than before. Hurting her, but he couldn't stop, and they both knew it was the end when he came in a series of thick, steady pulses. Jerked his hips against her for good measure, pushing more cries out of her, and he sucked her tongue hard, her fingernails gouging into his back as he finished, and if he was ever going to breed her it would've been then.

Part of Barba wondered if she would've wanted that, if she would have allowed it if he'd been capable of it. She was in heat; did nature really give her more autonomy than it gave him?

But of course she had to know he _wasn't_ capable of it, that the suppressants left him sterile. Maybe permanently. He didn't want to find out.

Rollins sighed gustily after he drew out of her, cock soft at last, and laid next to her. The bed was badly in need of fresh sheets, but as she stretched next to him, making contented noises, finally satisfied, he couldn't find the energy to get up. He was tapped out. Even his skin felt tired.

She rolled onto her side, facing him. Close enough to touch if she wanted, but she didn't now, as if she knew he couldn't take anymore. The heat she continued to throw off was unreal; the thought of her hands on his skin made gooseflesh break out across his body. He was thinking about sleeping on the couch, knowing all the same that he wouldn't leave her. Idly wondering what two nights in a row on something not a bed would do to his back, and everything just… Switched off.

When Barba woke up for the second time it was dim in the room, the sun just starting to rise. Extracting himself from Rollins's clingy grip felt like starting a clock on how long it would be before he went crawling back to her, begging for more. He slunk through the apartment, heading for the bathroom to relieve himself, get a drink of water. He couldn't meet his own eyes in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, and it took three handfuls of cold tap water before he could swallow, clear his throat.

He dug out a spare toothbrush, still plastic-wrapped from the dentist, and left it on the counter before returning to bed, first picking up discarded clothing and piling it on the empty chair in the corner of his room.

In the milky daylight, her breathing slow, Rollins looked warm and healthy, all pinks and peaches, blonde hair a mess across his pillows. He settled next to her, listening to her breathing, the smell of her already fading. The room reeked of sex, his own musky sweat, but she was still sweet like she'd been yesterday morning, just… Fainter. It _had_ to be chemical, and his mind wandered as he played with locks of her damp hair, trying to remember what he'd learned in school about human biology, pheromones and sex drives.

It was noticeably brighter in the room when her hand covered his, dragged it down to her lips to kiss, her tongue flicking against the webbing of his thumb. She paused after, a hint of a frown appearing on her face, taking in his lack of reaction. "You already took it, didn't you."

He didn't pretend not to know what she was talking about; he leaned down to kiss her forehead but didn't feel the need to do anything else. She didn't smell half as sweet as she had earlier.

"It's not that bad," Barba said.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: BIG PHARMA, which only I am entertained by.


End file.
